A childhood reflection.

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Melissa Quazi        English, Mrs Jewitt        12.11.01

A Childhood Reflection

Looking back at my childhood, which I do not believe has finished yet, I would say, compared to many others; mine is a happy one. In comparison to when I was seven, I have vastly matured, but sometimes I relish in acting as if I was that age again. I hope I will always be a child at heart because I believe that is what can make us truly happy, not the riches of the world or heaven on Earth.

        

I am not lying to you or myself when I say I have had a happy childhood. Despite coming from a broken family and having in my view, one of the worst brothers in the world (although when I was younger I used to worship the ground he walked on), I do not feel these things have had a significant impacts on the overall emotions involved in my childhood.

        

Of memories, I have very few. But the ones I do manage to hold from falling into the swirling vortex of oblivion, which dares to call itself my memory bank, I cherish in the depths of my heart. I retrieve small clips of my life when I wish to review them. The majority of my memories are extremely happy ones. But I do retain one, which you could hardly say was overflowing with joy.

        

This memory only recently has begun to make sense, as I reviewed it with a greater level of maturity than I possessed at the time. I was in year two of my primary school, St. James. As I recreate my most important childhood memory, I will think carefully. Words make pictures. And pictures make stories.

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As I said before, I worshiped the ground my brother, Adam, walked upon. Plus I think, he actually used to like me, although he probably wouldn’t admit it now. It was nearing the summer holidays and my brother had received his birthday presents a week or so before the event. One of these presents was a brand new skateboard, and Adam had given me his older, slower one. At the time I thought it was the best thing in the whole world, (except the newer one Adam had of course) but really it was shabby, scratched and very tatty. ...

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